Hey, Rube!
by JJGrace42
Summary: "Then you're back to what you were before: a lawless circus sideshow who stupidly decided to make an enemy of SHIELD." AU/OC Insert fanfic. Rated M for violence, strong themes, and language.
1. In Which Lines Are Drawn

**Author's Note:** Each scene will be started with a time, date, and location because this story will jump around just a bit. The first scene of each chapter will be pre-May 2012 and everything after that first scene will be back to the regular pacing and timeline. Sometimes the opening scene will be short and other times it will be long.

The characters in this fic will be using ASL. I am well aware that ASL doesn't work the same way as English or other spoken languages (I'm a Deaf Education minor) but I'm not fluent enough yet to trust myself to try to properly translate things. So instead, ASL will be shown within quotes but as "ALL CAPS." This will be the main representation of ASL, though I will occasionally describe it.

I'm still working on _Samsaric_ and _Rage, Rage_ , but this idea just wouldn't stop bugging me.

DISCLAIMER: This fic will contain a lot of potential triggers (death, depression, violence, etc.). Please read responsibly.

I give you the first installment of _Hey, Rube!_

* * *

Chapter One - In Which Lines Are Drawn

 **11:43 pm**

 **January 1st, 1982**

 **Osborne, Kansas**

"Clint?" she whispered. "Clint?" She sat up and stared across at the other bed, hugging her knees to her chest. "Are you awake?" Sniffling, she rubbed her eyes. She pushed herself up and winced as her feet hit the cold floor. When she reached his bedside, she gently touched his shoulder. "Clint?"

He jumped, turning over quickly. Clint stared at her for a long moment and she rubbed her eyes again. Then he leaned past her and pulled the lamp chain. After a couple seconds, the light flickered on with a buzz. Clint frowned at her worriedly, touching the letter C to his chin with his right hand and bringing it down to his left hand, all fingers folded except for his thumb and index finger. He tapped her cheek to make sure she was looking at him. "Are you okay?" he asked in an attempted whisper, though it was still a little loud and a little blurred between words.

She took a moment to still the shaking in her hands before she signed. "I'M SCARED. WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN TO US?"

He smiled and tapped her nose. "We're gonna go on an adventure, Etta. Just the two of us."

She giggled faintly and looked down. "DON'T CALL ME THAT."

"Don't be a punk." He scooted aside to make room for her and lifted his blanket. "Turn the light off."

"THANK YOU." She tugged the chain and climbed into the bed. She felt around for his hand and held it against hers. "I LOVE YOU."

"I love you too, Etta." He pressed a sloppy kiss on her forehead, making her laugh. "Now go to sleep. And try not to move too much. You've got sharp elbows and I don't wanna have to kick you out of the bed. I promise everything will be okay in the morning."

* * *

 **9:28 pm**

 **May 3rd, 2012**

 **Stuttgart, Germany**

"Bianka Faust." The German clipped against her lips and she only gave the faintest of smiles as the man looked over the guest list.

"And Herr Klemens Faust?" the man asked, glancing up from the paper. "Will he be joining us?"

"My husband fell ill. But we made sure I could still be here to give a hefty contribution during this year's gala." She tapped her clutch. "He was sorely disappointed to miss it this year, though."

The guard waved her past disinterestedly. Charlie stepped through, playing with the latch on her clutch and looking around the large room. She moved past the groups deep in discussion with her sights set on the waiter. "Hello. Ah, danke schoen." She took one of the wine glasses and sipped at it. She wrinkled her nose. "Oh, sekt," she mumbled. "I was not ready for that." She licked her lips, savoring the bubbly taste, and turned. "Excuse me!"

"Ja?" the waiter asked, turning back.

"Is there another restroom I could use?" she asked, smiling a little. "The one downstairs is full."

"Ah." He gestured with his free hand, keeping his tray of wine balanced with the other. "Up the stairs to the left. There is a sign."

"Good, good," she murmured. She tucked her clutch under her arm and took a second glass of wine. "Danke."

He stared at her for a moment before offering an unsure, "Bitte."

She sipped from the new glass and started for the stairs. She was halfway up when her foot slipped. "Goddamn stilettos," she muttered, adjusting and taking another taste of wine. She took a left at the top of the stairs and traced her way down the familiar path to the restroom. Charlie stared at the sign hung on the door for a moment as she enjoyed her wine. Then she lifted the sign off its hook and threw it down the hall before stepping inside. "Hello?" she asked in German. "Anyone in here?"

No answer.

"Lovely," Charlie said, reverting back to English and beaming as she closed the door. Charlie set her glasses on the counter. She opened her clutch and took out a couple small wooden blocks before kneeling down. "Now, where are you. Ah, there you are." She pulled out her small hammer. "They really should do a weapons check at the door," she mused, pressing the edges of the blocks into the crack between the door and the floor. She tapped them tightly in with her hammer.

She dropped the hammer with a groan and began undoing the straps on her heels. "God, it's gonna feel nice to be out of these." Charlie picked the shoes up and stepped over to the restroom's sink. The cabinet didn't open when she tested it, eliciting a smile. "Good." She jerked sharply and the hinges gave way as the cabinet doors snapped open. Charlie reached inside and pulled out her duffle bag, tossing it up on the counter.

It took her three minutes to change out of the gown and into her normal outfit, strapping her weapons on across her body. She hooked her bullwhip onto her belt and then shoved her gala clothes into the bag. She slipped the cheap, fake wedding ring off her finger and then slipped her wolf ring onto her right hand. Charlie twisted her curled hair into a french braid, humming. "Is that everything?" she asked herself, glancing around. "Oops! Almost forgot."

She pulled out the envelope in the bag and checked inside it, thumbing through the several hundred dollar bills it contained. Satisfied, she licked it and then sealed it closed. She uncapped a pen and scrawled _My bad!_ across the front, finishing it off with an unapologetic winky face. Charlie zipped up the duffle bag—which now just contained a fancy dress and pair of heels—and tossed it back under the sink. Then she turned and taped the envelope to the door. "Here goes," she muttered. Then she wrenched back on the door and it scraped desperately against the barriers she'd put up. The hinges creaked a bit, letting the door open just enough. Charlie picked her glasses back up and slipped out the door.

She moved forward and leaned just behind a pillar, keeping an eye out on the room below but staying where she wouldn't be seen. Charlie took another sip of wine. "Damn, this stuff is good." She finished her first glass and was halfway through her second when she spotted him: the goddamn maniac who thought he could lay a hand on her family and get off scot-free. She looked down at her unfinished drink. "I need this," she breathed. Then she knocked the rest of it back like a shot. "Wow, that actually kinda burns. Okay." She threw the glass to the ground and watched it shatter. "Let's do this."

She turned out from behind the pillar just in time to see Loki's cane make contact with a guard's face. Charlie leapt over the railing and hit the ground in a roll, but her entrance was ignored in favor of the people around screaming in surprise as Loki moved forward and grabbed Heinrich Schafer. Charlie began pushing her way through the crowds, snapping out more German obscenities than was really necessary. Loki flipped his victim up onto the flat statue at the bottom of the stairs, fist twisting the man's collar dangerously. Charlie uncoiled her bullwhip, sliding to a stop at the front of the crowd as they turned and ran, screaming. Loki pulled out a device and she moved.

Her whip snapped against his wrist, knocking the device from his hands. Loki's ice blue gaze snapped up and narrowed in on her. Then his lips curled into a snarl. "Ah. I should have expected this, all things considered."

"You're a jackass. Has anyone ever told you that?"

He smiled palely. "Not in precisely those words." Then he seemed to speak to someone that wasn't there. "Deal with Schafer. A . . . distraction has arrived." He thumped his scepter against the ground and gold washed over his outfit, shifting into something more—

"What a drama queen," she said, crouching low in an attack-ready position. "Where is he?" she growled.

He stepped back from the statue but kept it between the two of them, with Schafer's limp form still on it. Loki's gaze flicked to the doors as they burst open. A man—SHIELD agent, she recognized, not HYDRA—ran inside, stooping for just a moment to retrieve the fallen device. Charlie glanced towards him as he pinned Schafer down, but past that she didn't care for the man's screams.

"Where is he?" she repeated. "Tell me!"

"You ask a lot of questions. But I don't particularly feel compelled to answer." Then he lifted the scepter and a high-pitched whine assaulted her ears.

Charlie rolled to the side just in time to avoid the powered blast that shattered the floor where she'd just been. _Three steps,_ she told herself. She clicked a pocket on her belt. A disc dropped into her hand and she pressed her finger against the middle. When she threw it, it burst into blue smoke. She got to her feet and quickly spanned the distance between herself and the statue in three steps, unsheathing a knife with her left hand. She vaulted up over the statue, aiming for the diffused glow of his scepter through the smoke. She grunted as she slammed into his body, tumbling to the floor. A hand caught her wrist tightly, twisting it harshly. She let out a cry and dropped the knife.

Charlie dragged her bullwhip around his neck and grabbed it awkwardly with her other hand, twisting. He sputtered and she could just barely see the surprise on his face as the smoke began to clear. His hand slammed into her chest and she gasped as she felt her ribs give. It was followed through by a tremendous amount of force and the braided leather ground against her hand as she stumbled backward.

Charlie scrambled to her feet, each breath suddenly far more painful than they had been a moment before. Loki rubbed his neck, retrieving his scepter and climbing to his feet. Charlie scowled and lashed out with her bullwhip.

 _Crack!_

It snapped across his face. Sick satisfaction bloomed in her chest and she had just one moment to enjoy it before pain exploded in her ribcage and she found herself flying backward. Wood shattered around her, digging agony into her back. And then she met the ground, skidding to a stop with stone grating against her elbows. Charlie groaned, arms shaking as she tried to push herself up. She fought through the haze to see Loki standing on the museum steps, scepter raised as a familiar whine filled the air.

Charlie was halfway to her feet when something shoved her back as a dark figure dropped over her. The angry whine was followed by a percussive echo and then the figure rose to his feet. Charlie stared. "You've got to be fucking kidding me. They sent the chorus girl?"

He didn't even look at her, instead moving forward. "You know, last time I saw a man like you in Germany, we ended up disagreeing."

Charlie dragged her gaze to Loki where he was pulling himself to his feet. "The soldier," he said, laughing. "The man out of time."

"Oh, I'm not the one out of time."

Charlie scrambled to her feet and looked up at the quinjet positioning itself above them, lowering its guns. A familiar voice came over the speakers. "Loki, drop the weapon and stand down."

A grin pulled at Charlie's face. "Nat!"

The quinjet pulled sharply to avoid the blast from Loki's scepter. Charlie ducked as Rogers attacked, coiling her bullwhip back up on her belt. She drew her hand cannon to find Rogers on the ground with Loki's scepter on his neck.

"Kneel," Loki ordered.

"Screw off," Charlie said, firing. The blast slammed into Loki, knocking him aside.

 _"_ _I'm gonna take you down—down, down, down. So don't you fool around."_

She looked up at the quinjet. "What the hell?" Then she lowered herself into a defensive stance, staring at the incoming light. She eyed the man as he landed, arms raised and almost every bit of weaponry he had aimed at Loki where he was on the ground. "Your move, Reindeer Games."

Loki stared at him, breathing heavily. Then he raised his hands and gold washed his armor away. Iron Man lowered his hands as Rogers moved to stand beside him. "Good move."

"Mr. Stark," Rogers greeted.

"Captain."

"Fuckers," Charlie muttered. "I had this handled."

Iron Man glanced back. "Who's this?"

Charlie glowered at him and then glanced up. She stepped forward, giving the quinjet room to land. As the ramp lowered, she turned and shoved her way past Rogers. "Thanks for screwing everything up," she muttered. Then she stopped in front of Loki. "Where is he?" she demanded, pointing her hand cannon at his head.

"Charlie. Stand down."

She grit her teeth, staring Loki down. He stared back up at her, clearly unafraid, though the expression was slightly marred by the welt staining his face. She stepped back, holstering her hand cannon. "Fine, Nat." She looked back at the redhead.

"Any information you want from him we'll get back at SHIELD," Natasha said, moving forward. She jerked Loki up, securing his hands tightly. Then she looked up at Charlie. "We could use your help."

"Hold on, I still don't know who this is," Iron Man said.

"Fine," Charlie snarled. "But I'm only joining you so I can find Clint. You know what I think of SHIELD." She pushed past everyone and started up the ramp.

"Is no one hearing me?" Iron Man stepped up the ramp. Then he took off his helmet. "Who the hell are you?"

She looked sharply towards him.

"Look. I'm Tony Stark. Now you say your name. That's how introductions work."

Charlie glanced towards him and crossed her arms, suppressing a wince at the way the movement pressed against her aching ribs. "Don't get friendly," she said. "I'm leaving as soon as my goals have been achieved." She looked towards Natasha again as they took off. "Are you contacting Fury?"

"Don't worry, I won't mention you. He'll figure it out when we get there."

Charlie sat down across from Loki, arms crossed as she glowered at the man. Rogers and Stark moved towards the front of the quinjet and talked in whispers, though they weren't terribly quiet.

"I don't like it," Rogers said, arms crossed.

"What? Rock of Ages giving up so easily?"

Charlie narrowed her eyes on Loki. "You'll talk," she snarled. "And you'll regret ever laying a hand on my family."

"He speaks about you," Loki said simply. "His fallen sister."

Charlie stilled. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Thunder shook the quinjet and Natasha shook her head. "Where's this coming from?"

Rogers looked back at Loki. "What's the matter? Scared of a little lightning?"

"I'm not overly fond of what follows."

Light flashed brightly and the ramp opened. "Nat!" Charlie called.

"Wasn't me!"

A large figure landed on the ramp and marched forward. He grabbed Loki and turned. By the time Charlie was on her feet, he had jumped. She scowled and moved for the parachutes.

"Now there's that guy," Stark said.

"Another Asgardian?"

"Thor," Charlie muttered, pulling on the parachute.

"Doesn't matter," Stark said, putting on his helmet and stepping towards the ramp. "If he frees Loki or kills him, the Tesseract is lost."

"Stark! We need a plan of attack!"

Charlie moved past both of them and jumped. She streamlined herself, squinting against the whip of air against her eyes. In a humming flash of light, Stark dove past her. The mountain got closer and Charlie pulled her chute, grunting at the sudden deceleration. She landed and detached the chute, eying Loki. "You're really starting to piss me off, you know that?"

"I do not understand this obsession with this brother," he responded, looking amused. "Understand this, however; I know abandonment very well. And believe me when I say that I look at your life and pity you."

"I don't need your pity."

"You would sacrifice your independence to run around with these . . . costumed delinquents?" Loki asked, turning to stare at the fight below.

"I'm not sacrificing anything." She put a hand on her gun but didn't draw it. "Why are you here? Why'd you come to Earth?"

"Midgard is hardly somewhere I desire to be."

"Then why come here at all? I find it hard to believe that you really find the Tesseract all that interesting."

"And what would you know about the Tesseract?"

She scowled.

"I see. You know an awful lot for a simple criminal. Surely there's more to the story, isn't there?"

"I hate that word."

Light flashed and a mild shockwave washed upward. Charlie stumbled back a couple steps and threw up her arm to protect herself, whipping out her gun with her other hand. She shook her head and blinked to clear the halos stuck in her vision, squinting. "The hell?" she muttered. She kept her gun trained on Loki and stepped forward, glancing down the mountain at all the fallen trees. "Holy cow," she breathed.

"I have a question for you," Loki murmured. "What would you do if I told you that your brother isn't coming back?"

Charlie snapped around towards him, arm cocked back. Then she landed a solid right hook against his face, knocking him aside. Loki's eyes widened and she saw the momentary panic there just before he fell off the edge. She stepped forward and stared down at him as he fell, jaw tight. "You better hope that's not true," she spat. "For your own sake."

* * *

 **8:01 pm**

 **May 3rd, 2012**

 **41,002 feet above the Atlantic Ocean**

Charlie frowned at the monitor, arms crossed tightly. "This is stupid," she muttered. "Give me five minutes and I would have him singing."

Natasha looked up and shook her head. "There are procedures that have to be followed. Besides, Fury won't let you near him. I wouldn't be surprised if you get thrown off the helicarrier when he finds out you're here."

Charlie looked towards her with a scowl. "Well, Fury's an idiot."

"I'm sorry," Banner said. "Who is she?"

"Maybe it would be better if we paid attention," Rogers interrupted, looking oddly at Charlie. She rolled her eyes and turned away from the monitor, moving to look out over the SHIELD agents on the bridge. When the interrogation ended a couple minutes later, she listened to the conversation.

"He really grows on you, doesn't he?"

"Loki's gonna drag this out. So, Thor, what's his play?"

Charlie playfully poked at the monitors at Fury's station, touching her belt with her other hand. She slipped out a small disc and subtly pressed it under one of the monitors. Then she glanced back at the others.

"Selvig?"

"He's an astrophysicist."

"He's a friend."

"Loki has him under some kind of spell," Natasha said. She looked towards Charlie. "Along with one of our own."

"Loki is planning," Charlie interrupted. "This was just one play. He just wanted us to think that he screwed up." She turned towards everyone. "But he's batshit crazy and if Fury really thinks he can keep me from him then he's even dumber than I thought."

"Have care how you speak," Thor said, stepping towards her. "Loki is beyond reason, but he is of Asgard, and he's my brother."

"Well, _your_ brother took _my_ brother," Charlie spat, glowering. "And if you think you can really keep me from harming him, then be my guest." Her hand went to her gun. "But I can assure you that I will carve right through you to get to what I want."

"Charlie," Natasha snapped, closing a hand around the blonde's bicep and pulling her back. "Are you insane?"

"Damn straight I am," Charlie said, still scowling at Thor. But she relaxed her grip and let her hand fall from her gun.

"Trickshot!"

Charlie snapped her gaze to the door where Stark was stepping in with Coulson. "Excuse me?"

"That's who you are, right?" Stark said, raising an eyebrow. He glanced towards Coulson. "I'll fly you there," he murmured. "Keep the love alive." Then he cleared his throat and stepped up towards Fury's monitors. "I was trying to figure out who the hell you are, but JARVIS was the one that recognized you, actually. You're a pretty famous mercenary on the black market." He saw Rogers unimpressed look. "There are conventions," he defended. He covered his eye and glanced at the monitors. "How does Fury do this?"

"He turns," Hill said dryly.

Charlie narrowed her eyes as she saw Stark plan his own device on the monitors. "Well, that sounds exhausting," he sighed. Then he turned back to everyone. "Loki needed Iridium as a stabilizing agent so he can build another portal. So that he can keep it open as long and as wide as he wants."

"Wouldn't he need more than just the Tesseract and some Iridium?" Rogers asked.

"The rest of the raw materials Agent Barton can get his hands on pretty easily, especially if he has just a fraction of the connections his little sister here does." He smirked a bit when Charlie scowled. "Only major component he still needs is a power source. A high energy density. Something to kickstart the cube."

"When did you become an expert on thermonuclear dynamics?" Hill asked.

"Last night," Stark answered easily. "The packet, Selvig's notes, the Extraction Theory papers. Am I the only one that did the reading?"

Charlie groaned. "So he needs a power source. Not like there's millions of those laying around."

Banner shook his head. "It can't be just any power source. He's got to heat the cube to a hundred twenty million Kelvin just to break through the Coulomb barrier."

"You say that like I'm supposed to understand what the hell you're saying."

Stark stepped forward. "That's only if Selvig hasn't figured out how to stabilize the quantum tunneling effect."

Banner frowned, fidgeting with his glasses. "Well, if he could do that he could achieve heavy ion fusion at any reactor on the planet."

"Finally, someone who speaks English," Stark said, approaching Banner with his hand out.

"Because that's helpful," Charlie muttered. "We've officially narrowed it down to nothing."

"Dr. Banner is only here to track the cube. I was hoping you might join him."

Charlie stiffened, gaze jumping to Fury as he entered. She only vaguely registered Rogers saying something because Fury's stare met hers and for a moment fear made her forget what it was like to breathe. He interrupted Rogers in the middle of a sentence. "Give me one good reason for why I shouldn't throw your motherfuckin' ass off this helicarrier."

She straightened and licked her dry, cracking lips. "I'm just here for Clint," she said confidently. "Once I'm sure he's safe, you can try to kill me if that's what you really want. But for now, we're on the same side."

"Same side? Same side! You personally have cost SHIELD dozens and dozens of good agents! We have _never_ been on the same side!"

"We are now," she snarled. "Take it or leave it because whether you like it or not, you need me. You're dealing with a _god._ That's far more than you little spy club has ever dealt with before, and you need all the help you can get."

Fury stared her down for a long moment but she didn't budge. Off to the side, Coulson shook his head. "We could have been on the same side," he pointed out. "You rejected that option twenty years ago."

"And I'm glad. Accepting your stupid offer would have been the worst mistake of my life. Besides, Clint said yes. And now look where he is: being controlled by some madman because SHIELD can't do its job."

Her words hung heavily in the air for a moment. Then Fury straightened.

"As soon as the threat of Loki is over, then you're back to what you were before: a lawless circus sideshow who stupidly decided to make an enemy of SHIELD."


	2. In Which Lines Are Blurred

**Author's Note:** For reference, Ласточка is the Russian word for "swallow" and is Natasha's nickname for Charlie.

I give you the second installment of _Hey, Rube!_

* * *

Chapter Two - In Which Lines Are Blurred

 **5:41 am**

 **March 2nd, 1993**

 **Circello, Italy**

"Clint," she breathed. "What are you doing?"

"C'mon, Etta, aren't you tired of this?" he whispered. "Wouldn't it be nice to have a home? To not be the bad guys anymore?"

She stared up at him. "We've never been the bad guys."

"You can't look at everything we've done and mean that," he said, shaking his head.

"I can. I definitely can. I don't want to give this up. I don't need a home. _You're_ my home."

"I'm exhausted, Etta. I can't keep doing this." He touched her chin to keep her looking up at him. "I'm trying to live this life and protect you at the same time and I'm afraid I'm going to burn out soon."

"I don't need you to protect me," she ground out. "I just need you to be here."

His thumb rubbed against her cheek. "Etta—"

"Don't _Etta_ me. You just want to take the easy way out and have someone else call the shots for you. You tired of this, I get it. But if you think for one minute that I'm going to willingly follow you into a world where someone is controlling every detail of my life, then maybe you don't know me at all."

"Etta—"

"Go."

He stared at her, hand stilling. "What?" he rasped.

"Go. You're obviously so desperate to be the _good guy,_ so just go."

He didn't move.

"Go!" she snapped, eyes beginning to sting. "You don't want to be here anymore! So go!" Charlie jerked back from him and shoved against his chest. "Leave!"

Clint's hands came up and he grabbed her by the wrists. His gaze flicked to the well-dressed man standing at the end of the alleyway, blocking the entrance. "If I go with you, you leave her alone."

The man sighed. "She's still a threat."

"Please," Clint said, voice cracking.

The man considered it. "One month."

Clint looked back down at Charlie but she wasn't looking at him anymore, expression hard. "Don't hate me, Etta. Please. Come with me."

"No," she whispered. "I won't live under someone's heel."

He twisted his hold on her so her hands were pressed against his. "I LOVE YOU."

Now, she did look up at him. Charlie pulled her hands away. "Go." The word was quiet and broken and was finished off by her gaze dropping to stare at the ground between them.

Clint leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Changeyou mind," he whispered. "Please. I love you." Then he turned. "Alright, Coulson. You have a deal."

* * *

 **11:51 pm**

 **May 3rd, 2012**

 **40,937 feet above the Atlantic Ocean**

"You're already pushing Director Fury's patience. Maybe it would be better not to test it by sneaking around the helicarrier."

Charlie sighed and didn't look up from the panel she was rewiring. "He's spent twenty years trying to ruin my life. I'm pretty sure he can deal with a couple hours of me messing with his."

"Put that back together, Charlie."

She looked up sharply. "Really, Nat? I mean, I know you're a SHIELD agent, but you're seriously that far gone? When did you go all lawful good?"

"Charlie."

Charlie dropped the wires and held up her hands. "Fine. Look! Not touching it anymore."

Natasha crossed her arms. "You know, there's only so much I can do to protect you from Fury. You really should try being on your best behavior."

Charlie scoffed. "You should know that I don't know how to do that."

"Then at least go somewhere where you can't do any damage."

"Are you grounding me?"

"If I have to."

"You aren't serious."

Natasha stared her down. Charlie wrinkled her nose, meeting her stare evenly. Then she rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'll go bug Stark and the Hulk in the lab."

"Banner. But yes, that's a good idea. The lab is—"

"I know where it is. I stole the helicarrier's blueprints three years ago and memorized them. See ya, Nat." She reached out and ruffled the redhead's hair, ignoring the way she stiffened. "It's nice to know SHIELD's rules are so important to you." Charlie turned on her heel and started down the hall. She went up two levels. "Heyo, Rogers. Out for an evening stroll?" she asked, winking as he approached.

He glanced at her, almost as if he hadn't even seen her there. "Barton," he said, stopping to face her.

"Chilly. Did I offend you somehow?"

"You don't seem to like SHIELD. Why?"

She stared up at him, considering her options. Then Charlie smiled thinly and patted him on the shoulder. "Let's hope I get it all sorted soon so that you never have to find out, big guy." She pushed past him. "Wish me luck on that, I suppose!"

Charlie stopped in front of one of the doors and it opened for her. "So," she said, interrupting the conversation going on inside, "who managed to get Spangles to start questioning Big Brother?"

Stark looked up. "Ah. Trickshot! How nice of you to join us."

She eyed him, walking over to one of the tables and hopping up on it. "I'm off the clock, Stark. Don't call me that."

"Well, then you can't call me Stark. What do you go by normally?"

"Your Majesty. Whose blueberries are these?" She picked up the bag and began picking through it. She popped a couple in her mouth. "Delicious."

"So, tell me, Trickshot. If you're a mercenary and have been for decades, then how did you end up with a goody two-shoes brother in SHIELD?"

"I won't make it my place to explain my brother's sin," she said, examining another blueberry. "Charlie."

Banner blinked. "Sorry?"

"The name's Charlie. Because I swear that if you call me Trickshot one more time when I'm not getting paid for it then I might lose it." She glanced up as she tossed a couple more blueberries into her mouth. "Besides, it's kinda rude not to use someone's name if they ask you to. Seriously, who brought these berries in? They're good." Charlie jumped down from the table and strolled over to where Banner was working. "So, how long is it going to take you to find this thing?"

"No idea," Stark said, pushing aside the screen he'd been working on. "There's a lot of factors involved that— How smart are you? Don't want to turn your brain to oatmeal with all this technical stuff." He looked a bit amused with himself at that.

"Never went past second grade," she said, shrugging. "But I'm pretty bright. Hit me with it."

"Sure you can handle it?"

"Shut the fuck up, Stark, and start explaining."

* * *

 **5:29 am**

 **May 4th, 2012**

 **42,012 feet above the Atlantic Ocean**

"Why did you break into our system?"

The words were out of Fury's mouth the moment he was in the lab. Banner and Stark immediately looked up from their work and Charlie felt her ribs close dangerously around her lungs for a moment. But Fury was focusing in on someone else. "What are you doing, Stark?"

"Uh, kinda been wondering the same thing about you."

"You're supposed to be locating the Tesseract."

Charlie watched in dim amusement as they talked, leaning against the glass that looked out on the room that held Loki and his cage. Her anxiety dropped when she realized that Fury didn't have any suspicions towards her specifically. The door opened again and she glanced towards it as Rogers stepped inside.

"What is Phase Two?" Stark asked.

Rogers slammed the intricate gun he was holding onto the nearest table. "Phase Two is SHIELD uses the cube to make weapons. Sorry, the computer was moving a little slow."

As Fury started to try to explain, Charlie sniggered. "Who woulda thought that the righteous Captain America was a klepto?" she muttered to herself, stepping forward. She was ignored as the others dissolved into an argument. Charlie picked up the gun and turned it over, studying it.

The door opened again and Natasha stepped inside, closely followed by Thor. The redhead threw a sharp look toward Charlie, who grinned and waved the gun. "Hiya, Nat. Come to join the fight?"

Natasha shook her head and then focused in on Banner. "You want to think about removing yourself from this environment, doctor?"

Charlie sighed and rolled her eyes, turning her back on the group and studying the weapon in her hands instead. She didn't care about their stupid disagreements. As soon as she got Clint away from wherever that maniac had stashed him, then she would leave these people in her dust.

"Excuse me, did we come to your planet and blow stuff up?" Fury asked Thor.

Charlie groaned, turning around. "Oh, please, stop acting like you're the good guys," she spat out. "SHIELD isn't the hero here and neither are you."

"You're hardly in a position to talk about good and evil, Barton. You're potentially as big a threat as Loki! Remind me again why I haven't locked you up."

"Because you need me. Because you know that SHIELD is weak and worthless and you're scared what I could do to it if you really pissed me off!" She gripped the gun tightly, all too ready to use it if Fury said the wrong word.

"Charlie," Natasha warned. "You're better than this."

"Am I, Nat? You certainly don't think so. Remind me again who you would side with if it came down to it. Me or SHIELD?"

"You're being an idiot, Ласточка!"

"Don't you dare Ласточка me, Nat! You switched from one corrupt group to another, so don't you dare look down your nose at me! You're right. I _am_ better than this! Because I don't let myself become a goddamn puppet!"

"You people are so petty," Thor said, looking amused. "And tiny."

"Yeah, this is a team," Banner muttered.

"Agent Romanoff, would you escort Dr. Banner back to his—"

"Where? You rented my room!"

"The cell was just in case—"

"In case you needed to kill me, but you can't! I know! I tried!" He swallowed. "I got low. I didn't see an end, so I put a bullet in my mouth and the other guy spat it out! So I moved on. I focused on helping other people. I was good, until you dragged me back into this freak show and put everyone here at risk!"

"Yeah, they're pretty good at stupid decisions," Charlie mused, frowning at him and letting her gaze drop to his hands. "You mind dropping the magic stick? I don't really care too much, cause if you don't then I get to see exactly what this baby here does." She turned the gun over one more time, eying him.

Banner stared at her and then looked down at the scepter he was holding. A beep sounded across the room and Stark straightened. "Got it."

As Banner set down the scepter and went to investigate, Charlie asked. "The Tesseract? Where is it?"

"I can get there faster," Stark said.

"Like hell you're going on your own," Charlie muttered. "Wherever that stupid cube is, that's where my brother is."

"The Tesseract belongs on Asgard," Thor said, arms crossed. "No human is a match for it."

Stark turned to leave and Rogers grabbed his shoulder. "You're not going alone."

"You gonna stop me?"

"Put on the suit and let's find out."

"I'm not afraid to hit an old man."

"Put on the suit."

"Oh, my god!" Banner said.

Charlie turned and stepped towards him. "What? The cube?"

Then fire ripped through the room. The floor gave way and her heart pulsed into her throat. Before she could react to the heat burning her eyes, she slammed into something and harsh metal dug against her ribs. Ashy air burned across her throat and she coughed, trying to push herself up. "What—"

A groan interrupted her and she looked up.

"Shit," she gasped out, staring at the man curled up on the floor. He was shaking, spasming in his own body. Charlie scrambled against the floor, trying to find purchase. "Hey, big guy!" she rasped out. "Don't hulk out until I leave. Don't—"

He growled loudly, looking up at her. His face was bulging an angry green.

Charlie finally managed to make it to her feet, her twisted knee groaning in absolute agony. She drew her gun. "Stay down. Don't make this harder than it has to be," she said, backing up.

His shirt began to tear as his muscles bulged out and he began to grow, bones cracking sickeningly as he did so. Charlie kept backing up. Then he looked up at her and roared, surging to his feet. Charlie dropped her aim and turned, taking off at a run. Loud crashing echoed behind her as the Hulk raged after her. Charlie slid just in time to a stop in front of a door, fumbling with the doorknob. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" Finally she managed to shove it open. She tripped to the right as she ran through the door just before the doorway was smashed open.

Charlie turned left, throwing her mind back to the blueprints she had memorized. Another left. Slight right turn in the hall. All the while, she could hear the pounding feet of her pursuer getting closer and closer. Then she saw it.

Outside access ramp.

Charlie glanced back and then ducked just in time to avoid the wild swing at her head by a meaty, green hand. She rolled between his legs and his fist slammed into the ground between his feet. Charlie jumped up and grappled for a hold until she managed to dig her hands into his hair. He roared angrily and stumbled backwards. She was slammed between him in the wall and felt her ribs give painfully.

The moment he moved forward, she looped her bullwhip once around his neck and pulled it taut. She yanked to the right and grimly smiled when he choked out an angry scream and stumbled in that direction. Right until he slammed into the panel, shattering the plastic over it and harshly pressing the button. Gears whirred and the ramp began to open. A hand closed around her arm and she was yanked forward, bullwhip slipping from around his neck. She hit the ground in a roll and her already abused ribs screamed out.

Charlie tumbled to the side to avoid the blow that crushed the ground where she'd been. Then she rushed in front of the opening to the outside, hooking her bullwhip around the frame to avoid falling out. The Hulk rushed at her and Charlie jumped up, flipping in the air. She slammed her feet into his back.

He roared in rage as he tumbled, helpless, from the helicarrier.

Charlie heaved a sigh of relief and held on to her bullwhip as she leaned to the side and hit the button again. The opening began to close and she jerked her bullwhip free and scrambled away. Charlie fell on her back, gasping and heaving for air.

Clint.

That one thought propelled her for Loki's cage. If he got free, then she would have lost her only way to her brother. She slammed through the turned agents that tried to stop her, breaking bones if she had to but resisting killing them—they were being controlled and that didn't mean they were HYDRA, after all. Her entire body was protesting in pain by the time she finally stumbled into the cage room.

The doors on the cage closed.

Loki wasn't inside.

"Let me out!" Thor roared, slamming a fist against the glass.

Loki simply chuckled, hand playing over the button on the panel. "The humans think us immortal. Shall we test that?"

She lashed out with her bullwhip and it cut completely through him. Loki dissipated. A hand closed around her neck and a voice pressed its way into her ear. "A persistent one, aren't you?" he hissed. "I must say, I admire your determination, as petty and useless as it is."

Charlie twisted in his grasp and nails scraped up the skin along her neck. She wrenched around to see his welt-marred face. "Go to hell," she snarled, flipping out a knife and taking a step back to get a little distance.

"That's amusing," he said. "And here I thought you wanted to interrogate me on where you brother is."

A growl welled up in her throat and she tackled him. "You asshole!"

He slammed an elbow into her face and she reeled back, flicking out with her bullwhip at the same time. It wrapped around his neck and she grabbed the end. Wrenching it tight, she dragged him around so he was pressed up against the glass of the cage. Out of the corner of her eyes, something moved. Charlie looked up to find Coulson hefting a large gun. The weapon began to whine. Loki pushed back.

A blaze of light burned its way into her retina and fire licked its way across her body. A raspy shriek burnt through her throat and she slammed back into the wall at the same time as another body pinned her there. Black spots filled her vision and ringing filled her ears. The weight on her lifted and she strained to hear the muffled, distant voices. A loud burst of anger.

Charlie struggled to her knees and vaguely focused in on the figure by the panel. "No," she rasped out, fingers clenched around ashen, tattered leather.

The cage dropped.

"No!"

A heel ground into her back. "It really is laudable how hard you try for this brother when he doesn't seem to care. He speaks so loudly about your failings and yet you continue to try and try and try."

"Sh-shut up," she gasped, trying to push herself up. He pushed down harder and she slammed back into the floor.

"Stay down. My respect for you has grown, but seeing you so pitiful . . . . You mock my admiration." His foot slammed into her head.

* * *

 **7:02 am**

 **May 4th, 2012**

 **39,591 feet above the Atlantic Ocean**

"Are you done yet?"

The medic looked up, a frown forming between his brows. "If you don't want me to make sure you didn't do any permanent damage, I can leave now. But if you want to make sure that—"

"Fine, fine," Charlie spat out. "Just do it." She glanced aside at the door opened to let Fury in.

Steve looked up. "Coulson?" he asked.

"Stable. The knife did a lot of damage but it also acted like a stopper and kept him from bleeding out. He'll be okay." He looked towards Charlie. "Romanoff secured Agent Barton. He's In a bunk on the second—"

She was on her feet and halfway to the door by the time he got to that point, ignoring the protests of the medic as she unwound his unfinished bandage around her head. "Barton!" Fury yelled after her.

She ignored him, slamming open the door to the stairwell and racing down. She swerved around the corner and shoved open the door to the first bunk. Empty. The next bunk. Empty. The next bunk.

"Charlie, shh!" Natasha hissed, looking up.

Charlie froze, staring. Clint was bound to the table with leather cuffs, groaning and shaking his head as if trying to clear it. Charlie swallowed and let the door close carefully behind her. "Is he okay?" she rasped. She limped forward to stand behind Natasha.

Clint jerked his hands against the cuffs around his wrists. His eyes opened just barely. "E-etta?" His hands continued to pull.

"Stop that," Natasha ordered sternly.

He groaned, grimacing in pain. "How many?" he rasped.

"What?"

"How many agents did I kill?"

"No," Natasha said, shaking her head. "No. Don't do that."

"Tasha—"

"No," she repeated strongly. She sighed and got to her feet. "Charlotte is here," she said, softening her voice.

He jerked his hands again and tried to open his eyes. "Thought I was dreamin'," he muttered.

"You wouldn't be so lucky," Charlie said, crossing her arms and hunching her shoulders. "You goddamn idiot."

"Now, now," Natasha reprimanded, standing up. "Play nice. I'm going to check in with the Director." She stepped past Charlie and left the room.

"Can you let me up?" Clint asked hoarsely.

"Um, yeah." Charlie stepped forward and started loosening the cuffs holding him down. "Is it too late for me to say I told you so?"

He let out a breathy gasp that may have been an attempt at a laugh. "That's never stopped you before," he muttered, rubbing his sore wrists.

"Well then, I told you so." She gripped his chin tightly and began studying the purple and blue bump on his forehead. "God, you look like hell."

He glanced up at her and then tore himself away. "Have you not looked in a mirror recently?"

"No, actually." She reached up to where she knew there was blood crusted all over her face. Her damaged ribs groaned at the movement. "Do I really look that bad?"

"Look that bad? You look like death warmed over."

"Yeah, well, my first SHIELD team up didn't go as well as I expected. Mostly because I never expected it."

He hauled himself up and swung his legs over the side. Then Clint stared up at her. "And what the fuck are you doing teaming up with SHIELD anyway? You hate—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But I had to save your ass somehow. Was gonna do it on my own but Nat and the chorus girl interrupted me in Germany."

"German— Oh, god, you—"

"Doesn't matter now." She grabbed his hands and hauled him to his feet. "You're up now. And now we can skip town. I've got access codes to the quinjets and figured out how to turn on stealth mode, so we can leave and never look back. You can walk, right?"

"Yeah, of course I can." He pulled his hands back and watched her, pressing his lips together. "Etta, I'm not leaving SHIELD. I know how you feel about this, but I not leaving."

"Clint, wasn't this shit show proof enough that—"

"Charlotte, please."

The use of her real name made her jerk back and her expression immediately drew thin. "You're not joking, are you?" she rasped. "You're being serious."

He glanced away, a sigh tearing itself from his lungs. "Please tell me we're not gonna fight about this _again._ We've been arguing about this for literally decades." Clint pushed his way into the bathroom and leaned over the sink, running the water.

Charlie pursed her lips. "We won't fight about it," she mumbled, crossing her arms. "Actually thought you might be at least open to a conversation about leaving this time."

He splashed water on his face, gasping from the cold. Then he murmured, "You know me better than that."

"Yeah. Sadly."

The door slammed open. "Clint," Natasha cut in, not even caring about whatever their conversation had been. Rogers stood behind her, peering nervously between Charlie and Clint.

Clint stepped out of the bathroom, drying his hands on a hand towel. "Yeah? Where's the fire?"

"New York City." Natasha eyed him. "You up for it? Or are you gonna fall apart on us?"

"I should be okay."

"Good." Then Natasha turned her attention to Charlie. "You flying off now that he's back?"

Charlie glanced towards Clint, studying the way he was favoring his left leg and squinting a bit against the light even though he had insisted he would be fine. There was no way she was letting him run into battle like that without her there to make sure he survived. She rolled her eyes. "I think I still owe Loki an ass beating. Count me in, but just this once."

"Isn't that what you said last time?"

She stopped resisting her scowl. "I mean it this time."


	3. In Which Pain Plays a Role

Chapter Three - In Which Pain Plays a Role

 **2:02 pm**

 **June 17th, 1983**

 **Somewhere in New Mexico**

"Etta?" He asked loudly, turning back to find her standing still several feet back on the dirt road. "Why'd you stop?"

She looked up, pouting with eyes clearly shining. "MY SHOE BROKE."

He dropped his gaze to find her nudging her old sneakers in the dust, her blistered toes peeking through the ripped fabric. "Oh." He stepped back and turned so he was facing away from her. "Up!" he ordered, crouching down.

Charlie sniffled loudly before hopping on his back. She draped forward against him and pressed her face into his shoulder with a shaky breath. He hooked his arms behind her knees and straightened. "Thanks." Knowing he couldn't see or hear her, she tiredly wrote the word out on his bicep with her finger.

He took a moment to translate the pressure and took his best guess. "Well, I gotta take care of you, right?"

She shook her head, knowing he could feel it against his back.

"Of course I do. I'll always take care of you, Etta. I can promise you that."

* * *

 **1:17 pm**

 **May 4th, 2012**

 **New York City, New York**

 _"_ _Trickshot! Where the hell are you?"_

Charlie scowled at the buzzing voice in her ear, resisting the urge to claw the com out. She settled instead for clawing out the chitauri's spinal cord. "Up near the park." She front flipped off of the doomed alien chariot and tackled another chitauri off their own vehicle. The air slammed out of her as she hit the ground in a clumsy roll, ribs moaning.

 _"_ _The— You're supposed to be on 9th!"_

"Well, I'm not, okay!" She swallowed a cry of pain as she was knocked in the head and thrown back.

 _"_ _I can close it!"_ Natasha yelled through the coms. _"Can anybody hear me? I can shut the portal down!"_

 _"_ _Do it!"_ Rogers ordered.

 _"_ _No, wait!"_ Stark interrupted.

"What the fuck?" Charlie snarled. "Just end this already!" She kicked out the leg of the chitauri leaning over her and scrambled to her feet, spitting out blood. She heard chattering and turned around just in time to get tackled.

 _"_ _I've got a nuke coming in,"_ Stark said, _"and it's gonna blow in less than a minute. And I know just where to put it."_

 _"_ _Stark, you know that's a one-way trip."_

Charlie rolled to the side to avoid the spear that pierced the ground where she'd just been. She backflipped up to her feet only to land on her aching ankle and almost collapse. Her fall forward was interrupted by a hit to her chin, knocking her back. She hit the ground hard. "Just," —she had trouble breathing— "fuckin' do it!" A foot slammed into her chest, pinning her down, and the gun the alien was holding whined as it charged. "Do it! Do it!" Fear uncoiled in her lower stomach as she stared down the barrel, watching the heat grow red as it prepared to fire.

The chitauri jerked back, chittering and shaking. It keeled forward. The weapon slammed against her head and dropped away and the alien collapsed on top of her. Charlie caught a breath and held it, staring up above her and merely listening to the sound of bodies dropping. Her hands started shaking and she shoved the creature off of her.

 _"_ _Come on, Stark,"_ Natasha murmured.

Charlie slapped a hand over her mouth, pain pushing bile up her throat.

 _"_ _Close it."_

Charlie clawed the com out of her ear and dropped it. She dragged herself to her feet. The entire world swayed. The ground tilted. She tumbled into the trash can and grabbed it to stabilize herself. Her throat burned and her shoulders seized up as she retched. Charlie slid to the ground, turning her back against the trash can and closing her eyes. She dragged her wrist across her mouth and then gripped her aching midsection. She felt her eyes sting and she swore deeply.

"Fucking nineteen years. Not gonna cry again," she muttered. Then she bit down harshly on her lip and the taste of iron grew stronger in her mouth. She folded forward, head in her hands, ears ringing and vision blurry.

Something grabbed her shoulder.

Charlie jumped, flipping out a knife and scrambling back. The trash can scraped against her back. The blur in front of her froze and a hazy voice yelled, "It's just me! It's just me, Etta! It's Clint!"

It took a moment to process that. Then she let the knife drop. "Fuck," she groaned out, the word drawing up the blood in her throat. "You're okay." It was as much statement as it was a question.

"I'm a picture of health compared to you. C'mon, let's get you on your feet."

"No medics," she slurred, stumbling up as he dragged her arm over his shoulders. "No hospital."

"Okay. Nat?"

She held up a finger and worked her jaw for a moment. Charlie leaned over and spat out a mouthful of gummy blood. A groan rumbled in her throat and she leaned against him. "Yeah, okay."

"Alright, let's go. They're taking Loki and they'll meet us there. Try not to vomit too much; I don't want you to ruin my appetite." He tightened the arm around her waist to haul her up better against his hip so he was doing most of the work.

"Appetite?" The world around her had finally stopped spinning. "Where the hell are we going?"

"Shawarma. And before you say anything, it was Stark's choice. The entire team is gonna be there."

Charlie stopped in her tracks and pulled herself back from him. "Go ahead," she murmured. "I'll see you when I see you. I'm glad you're okay."

"Wha— Etta, don't do that." He stepped in front of her to stop her leaving. "You're part of this team."

"I'm not. Fury has made it plenty clear that he wants me nowhere near his secret little boy band. I should probably split before he decides to kill me now."

"We won't let that happen. You have to at least stay until you can stand upright on your own."

"I can."

He eyed her. "Doesn't look like that to me."

She scowled, waving her arms just a little for balance. "I'm perfectly fucking fine."

"Etta, please."

She caught her breath, staring at him. "Don't you dare pull those goddamn puppy eyes on me. Clint, don't you dare—" She bit her lip harshly and her shoulders slumped, half in pain and half in relief. "Fine."

Charlie let him pull her back into the destroyed city, among the stench of spilled guts and burning gasoline. "They're not even gonna be open," she muttered.

"Pretty sure Stark can persuade them otherwise."

"You made it!"

Clint looked up to find the others standing in front of the place, Stark at the front with his arms outstretched. "Took some convincing to drag her here. Nat, you mind taking a look before she dies?"

Charlie jerked her arm away with a scowl. "I'm not gonna die. Just make sure I'm in good enough condition to leave once we're done. I wanna get out of town before Fury decides to skewer me." Marching forward on unsteady feet, she shoved past them and into the building.

They turned after her and Banner uncertainly asked, "You really think he'll try that after what you just did for the city?"

"For all of Midgard," Thor corrected. "You fought well! I don't understand why you would fear consequences from the director for that."

She slumped into a chair and let Natasha start studying and treating her major injuries. "Not for _this._ For . . . other things. I've been a thorn in SHIELD's side for quite a while. I'm pretty sure that he can't wait until I'm dead, regardless of what I did today."

"I honestly wish I felt the same, but some motherfucker decided to up and turn everything on its head."

Charlie jerked at the voice, shoving Natasha away. She got to her feet and squared her shoulders as she faced the newcomer. "Fury. Not even gonna give me a head start?"

"We need to talk, Barton."

"Like hell we do. Let me make this easy for you; you make even one move against me and I dump all of SHIELD's precious data all over the world: on every website, every news channel, every radio frequency. So choose your next words wisely." Her fingers were already itching back towards a knife.

"I'm offering you a spot on the Avengers."

Charlie let her hand go limp, a welcome relief considering it was still twitching from a run in with the electrical wiring of a chitauri glider just an hour earlier. "Okay, I . . . . I'm gonna need you to say that again. Slower."

"As much as I hate to admit it to a selfish, loose morals, revolting mercenary such as yourself, you've been . . . useful. So there's room in the Avengers for you." He cleared his throat. "There's conditions, of course. Whatever has possessed you to track down and murder SHIELD agents stops now. The Avengers aren't SHIELD, but there's a certain amount of cooperation. You have to agree to that."

Charlie ground her teeth and glanced to the side. Clint had straightened, eyes widening. He met her gaze. "PLEASE."

She straightened, despite the burning needles that had shoved their way into her spine. "I don't have a master and I make the choices I think are best. If you think you can put me under your thumb, you're wrong."

"Is that a yes or no, Barton? I didn't come here for riddles."

One more look at Clint. One more stab of hot iron in her back. One more sinking feeling.

"That's a yes."

* * *

 **9:37 am**

 **May 5th, 2012**

 **New York City, New York**

Clint did his best to enter the apartment silently and not make noise when he closed the door. He breathed a sigh and glanced towards the lump under the blankets on the couch. His shoulders slumped in relief. Clint turned towards the kitchen only to almost jump out of his skin. "Fuck! You're awake!"

Charlie was eying him through the steam of her drink, sitting on the counter with her legs crossed applesauce-style. "Unfortunately."

"How do you feel?" he asked, moving forward to feel her forehead.

She knocked his hand aside easily and took a sip of burning coffee. "Like shit. How was the send-off?"

"Fine. Thor and Loki are back in Asgard, as is the Tesseract."

"Oh, joy."

"Coulson even made it, though he had to be wheeled up in a chair." He watched the way his words made the muscles in her jaw tense. "This team thing . . . . You're gonna make it as difficult as possible, aren't you?"

"I've been on my own for twenty years now. Excuse me for being reluctant about exposing my back to others."

"It's not expo— It's letting them watch you're back, Etta. Teamwork is about—"

"I know what teamwork is. Don't patronize me." She downed the rest of her coffee. "I also know what stupid is. Stupid was me agreeing to this ridiculous Avengers idea in the first place." Charlie pushed herself from the counter and landed with a wince. "I give us two weeks to fall apart. Five at most before I hightail it the hell away from everyone here."

"Then why did you agree at all?" he asked tensely. "You could have said no. Don't act like you didn't have options, like you couldn't have figured out how to leave. I _know_ you could have. So why did you say _yes?"_

She set the mug down in the sink and turned to face him, normal steel expression marred by white bandages. "I have my reasons."

"You have your— This is another one of those secrets. Another one of those goddamn secrets that you always refuse to tell me about." When she started into the living room, he followed her. "What is it with you and _secrets?_ You act like I can't see what that crap does to you, but I _can._ If you would just tell someone—"

"And just who am I supposed to tell?" she asked, rounding on him. "You? After you left me because Coulson waved some naive ideal of heroic altruism at you? Or Natasha? When I know full well that she's exactly the type of person that's only your friend right up to the point where the cons outweigh the pros even the slightest bit? It's not like I have any other options. So tell me, who the _hell_ am I supposed to tell about this shit, huh? Who?"

Clint worked her jaw, nose pulling in that way it did when he was biting back frustration. Then he practically spat the word, half exasperation and half anger. "Me!"

Charlie watched him. Then she scoffed and rolled her eyes before moving towards the doors to the balcony. "Right. That's it."

"Where are you going? We're not done!"

"We're plenty done." She shoved open the doors with far more force than necessary.

"Where are you going?" he repeated, stepping forward as if to stop her. But it lacked the necessary effort.

Charlie threw a glance at him. "Out." Then she dove over the railing and hit the ground in a roll that jarred her abused body. She let the momentum carry her to her bare feet and she stalked off down the road, shoving her hands in her sweatpants pockets. "Tell you, my ass," she muttered.

"Etta!"

She grit her teeth. "I'll tell you something," she ground out. Then she turned on her heel and flipped him the bird with both hands. "Don't wait up for me!"

* * *

 **2:04 pm**

 **May 10th, 2012**

 **Newark, New Jersey**

"Wind at twelve miles per hour east," she murmured to herself, adjusting. "Compensating. Distance of three hundred seven yards. One target, three hostiles, four neutrals." Charlie adjusted her sights. "Now where are you?" she sang quietly to herself. "Come out, come out wherever you are."

But yet the only people she saw through her scope were still the neutrals, processing their sting trade with the hostiles. Charlie bit out a German curse and watched as the briefcase of money traded hands. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon."

One of the neutrals took the case he was handed in return and opened it before stepping aside and waving another person forward. A kind of sneering grin touched Charlie's lips. "Bingo. What took you so long, baby?"

Compensate for wind, distance, glass, movement. Ready. She bottomed out her breathing and gently squeezed.

Charlie liked music; she really did. The type she liked depended on the day, the way she felt, and possibly how many people she'd already killed that week. But one thing that always sang to her was the sound of the combustion that sent a bullet down the barrel of her gun. As that sound happened, she could feel it tearing the tension from her bones. And just a second later, she watched the victim drop.

Satisfied, she didn't even wait to watch the reactions unfold into a scene. She immediately ducked into cover and began packing away her rifle. Her chest seized up at the actions, still unhealed from New York. Charlie doubled over with a loud curse and then slapped her hand over her mouth. She could hear her heart thudding and did her best to quiet her breathing, trying to listen.

Silence.

She breathed a sigh of relief and finished packing up her rifle, moving slowly so as not to agitate her wounds. Charlie pressed a hand into her stomach as she rose to her feet, making sure the thick bandages were still in place. She moved to the door and listened.

Still silence.

Charlie opened the door and stepped out only to freeze when she heard a safety click off. She swallowed and glanced to the side at the man holding the gun. Hostile, not SHIELD. She dropped her bag and raised her hands above her head before offering up an innocent smile. "Sorry, I was looking for the bathroom. Think you can help me?"

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, it's a long story." She shifted her weight to her back foot. "You see, I took a wrong turn a couple hallways back and—" Charlie snapped her leg up and her foot slammed against his chin, closing his teeth around his tongue. He let out a bloody cry of surprise. As she brought her leg down, she wrapped it around his arm before flipping up. His gun clattered to the ground and his bones gave a sickening snap. He screamed and Charlie dropped down, flipping out a knife. She twisted her hand in his shirt and jerked him down. His screaming stopped the moment her knife went through the roof of his mouth and into his brain.

Stabbing pain burned through her abdomen and Charlie doubled over again, dropping the body. "Shit, shit, shit." Her hands shook as she gripped her knife and pulled. It slicked, releasing from his head, and she resheathed it. Then she held his mouth shut as blood began to pool between his teeth. "Stupid, reckless, idiotic." She kept cursing herself as she dug through her bag and came up with the tape to seal his mouth shut.

Down the hall and around the corner, the elevator dinged. Charlie swore again and grabbed the body and her bag, dragging them back into the room she'd just come from. She was about to close the door when she saw the gun still sitting on the carpet. Charlie reached out with her foot and dragged it back into the room. Then she closed the door and barricaded it with a chair.

She dragged another chair under the vent and stood on it. It was hard to undo the vent quietly, but she did her best. Her aching muscles protested loudly as she dragged the man up and secured rope under his arms. She tossed her bag up in the vent and climbed up herself. "Okay. C'mon," she muttered to herself, pulling up on the rope. "Damn. You know there's places other than McDonald's to eat at, right?" she spat. "C'mon, c'mon."

Struggling, she managed to pull him up into the vent. He thudded loudly against the metal and Charlie winced, cursing. She shoved him farther alone before dropping back down. She kicked the chair back over to the table and then jumped back up. Catching the edges, she took a deep breath and then hauled herself into the vent. It clicked loudly as she closed it again.

"In here!"

The knob twisted and the door pushed solidly against the chair, which kept it closed. Charlie put a hand over her mouth to keep her breathing quiet, stoically ignoring the blood she could feel spreading beneath her bandages.

"Open it!"

"It's blocked. Hold on, give me room."

Something slammed into the door loudly. Then again. And again. On the fourth hit, the chair gave way completely and the door slammed open. A stocky man tumbled in, catching himself before he fell. He glanced around. A woman pushed past him to the open window. "Shit. They got away." She turned. "Shut down the compound! Intruder is on foot!" She turned, scowling. "Are you deaf, Thompson? Get moving, goddammit!"

Footsteps retreated loudly and the door slammed shut. Charlie dropped her forehead down against the metal vent with a sigh. "Shit," she muttered. She threw her mind back to the blueprints she had studied. She probably should have spent more time studying the ventilation system.

With another silent curse, Charlie secured her bag across her back so it wouldn't shift. Then she crawled over the dead body and took a left at the next turn.

* * *

 **7:14 pm**

 **May 10th, 2012**

 **New York City, New York**

Clint glanced across the empty living area and sighed before packing up the leftover spaghetti. He turned and opened the fridge.

"What, you're not gonna share dinner?"

Clint jumped and looked back to find Charlie lounging on the couch. He narrowed in on her smile, which was a little too plastic to be real. "When the hell did you get there?"

She looked genuinely confused. "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

She hopped to her feet, grimacing as she did so. Then she moved over to him and closed the fridge with her foot as she took the container from him. "'fraid I don't. I'm gonna eat this, okay?"

"Still hurting?" he asked.

"No, it only took a couple days to heal from almost dying. Why would I still be hurting?" she asked sarcastically. She peeled off the tupperware lid and tossed it in the sink. "C'mon, Clint. What type of question is that?"

"A decent one, considering that you usually wouldn't even consider answering."

She eyed him flatly, absently digging through a drawer for a fork. "Well, normally I'm hiding injuries from a mission that I'm not gonna to tell you jackshit about. But if I remember right, we were in New York together."

"Well—"

"Good. Glad we're on the same page." She took a large bite of spaghetti. "This is good," she mumbled around the food. She clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks, bro."

"Yeah. Sure."


	4. In Which Lies Are True

Chapter Four - In Which Lies Are True

 **11:19 pm**

 **August 3rd, 2001**

 **Osborne, Kansas**

Clint looked up tiredly when the door opened. "You made it," he said, sitting up from his reclining position on the couch.

Charlie froze in the doorway, backlit by the porch light that left her face in shadow. Then she sighed and closed the door. "You didn't have to wait up for me."

"Of course I did, Etta. Had to make sure you weren't dead in a ditch somewhere."

She snorted derisively, dropping her bag and kicking off her shoes. "And how would you know if I was dead or just running late?"

"I wouldn't. And you know how I feel about that and you know exactly how I think we should fix that problem." He pushed himself to his feet.

"Absolutely not," she said, glancing back as she opened the fridge and retrieved a beer. "We're not getting stupid tract phones."

"Charlie, c'mon—"

"No, absolutely not."

"Why are you so afraid of me being able to take care of you?"

Charlie slammed the fridge door and turned to face him. She twisted off the bottle cap and tossed it to the side without looking. "Stop trying to make me sound like the bad guy, Clint." The cap hit the wall and bounced into the trash can. "This has nothing to do with me just not wanting you to baby me. I was never against that. Do I need to remind you that _you're_ the one to change that situation in the first place?"

"Don't make this into a SHIELD thing. This is not a—"

"Too late! It's a SHIELD thing now." She pushed past him, taking a swig of beer. Charlie collapsed into her armchair. "If you didn't want it to be a SHIELD thing, you shouldn't have left in the first place."

"What is it with you and SHIELD?" Clint asked exhaustedly. "You're constantly demonizing them— _me._ We're doing something good here!"

"Like hell you are!"

"And what, you're so much better? How many SHIELD agents have you killed so far this year, Charlotte? How many of my friends and comrades have you already put in the ground?"

"I've never killed a SHIELD agent in my life!" She surged to her feet.

"Liar! That's a lie and you know it!"

Her expression twisted. "Fuck you, Clint! And you wonder why I want to be in contact with you as little as possible! You always give me that look! Like I'm responsible for every bad thing going on! Like I'm so much lesser than you just because you're part of SHIELD, god's own gift to the world!"

"At least it's better than you running around without a moral code! I found something _good!"_

"And I'm what? Wrong? Bad? Immoral trash? Is that really what you think of me? That I'm not good?"

"Yes!"

Charlie clicked her teeth together and tensed her jaw. "Right, then." She took another taste of her drink. "I'll see you in the morning. Maybe." She shouldered past him and down the hall. Charlie opened the door to her room.

Clint's shoulders sagged. "Etta," he rasped out tiredly. "I—"

"No. Don't want to hear it."

"Etta—"

She slammed her door behind her and the lock clicked.

* * *

 **11:11 am**

 **May 11th, 2012**

 **New York City, New York**

Charlie pouted at the empty coffee pot. She looked at her finished mug then at the coffee pot and then at her mug again. Then she groaned and dramatically collapsed across the counter. "I'm so _tired,"_ she whined. She set her mug down and turned so her back was to the counter. She slumped to the floor. "How long does it take to get coffee?" she asked, thumping her head furiously back against the cabinets.

A knock sounded on the door.

Charlie blinked and straightened. "What, you forget a key?" she muttered. She hauled herself to her feet as the knocking continued. "Yeah, yeah, Clint. Calm yourself." She opened the door and blinked. "You're not Clint.

"Observant," Fury said, his calm tone belied by the intensity in his eyes. "A word, Barton?"

Charlie glanced at the two SHIELD agents standing behind him and straightened, brushing her hands over her thighs to double check the locations of her knives beneath her sweatpants. "Sure."

"Inside?"

"No. I prefer this right here." She crossed her arms.

"Fine. Let me make this simple. Yesterday, Agent Grant Ward of SHIELD was killed under mysterious circumstances while on a mission. Naturally, you can understand why we're suspicious of you."

She rolled her eyes. "Back to this old routine, huh? I haven't killed any SHIELD agents. We have a deal, remember?"

"Well forgive me for not trusting a freak show like you."

"Aw, that hurt my feelings, Nick." She made a show of putting a hand over her heart and pouting. "How can you be so mean? After everything I've done for you?"

"You ain't done shit for me that makes up for everything you've done in the past." He stepped aside and motioned his agents forward. "If you're as innocent as you claim, you won't mind coming in for questions, would you?"

Charlie scowled inwardly. But on the outside, she just looked bored and nodded. "Sure. Go ahead." She held out her hands.

One agent cuffed her while the other began to pat her down, searching for weapons. He felt the knives strapped to her thighs and reached down past her waistband to get to them. Charlie straightened in alarm. "Whoa, hey there, soldier. Careful where you touch."

He didn't even give her a glance, taking out her weapons and setting them on the counter. He finished the once over and then nodded, stepping away. "All clear."

Fury frowned. "Good. Barton?"

She rolled her eyes. "He missed my hairpin. Honestly, what are you teaching them these days?"

Fury reached out and tugged the hairpin out of her messy bun before passing it off to his agent. "Let's go." He turned.

"What the hell is going on?"

Charlie glanced out the doorway, where Clint stood with a large bag of coffee grounds in one hand and two Starbucks cups held awkwardly in the other. His gaze flicked to Fury. "Director?"

"We just have some questions we have to ask."

"And that requires you cuffing her? What's going on?"

Fury motioned his agents forward. They each grabbed one of Charlie's arms and began half leading and half dragging her out of the doorway. Fury followed. Clint was only a few steps behind. "Hey! Director!"

"She's just going to headquarters for some simple questioning," Fury assured him without looking back. "We won't do anything without cause."

"So you think you might have to do something?" Clint asked, voice breaking. "Director?" When Fury didn't stop, Clint raised his voice. "Fury!"

"Know your place, Barton," Fury told him, looking back as they reached the car.

Charlie glanced back to find that Clint had long since abandoned the coffee and was instead at the base of the building's stairs just a few feet away, fists clenched. "Know my place?"

An agent put a hand on Charlie's head and pushed her down into the back seat.

"What the fuck do you mean know my—"

The car door slammed closed, closing her off from her brother's words. One agent got in the back with her and, as he secured her seatbelt, the second agent got in the driver's seat. She was separated from the front by steel wire barrier. Charlie leaned her head against the window, watching as Fury and Clint spoke. Well, argued. Clint was signing furiously as he yelled, which was never a good sign. Finally, Fury must have said something that got through to him because Clint turned sharply on his heel and marched back up the stairs. But not before signing a few rather crude words.

Fury got in the front of the car. "Go," he ordered the agent.

Charlie listened to the hum of the engine for a little while, content in watching the buildings pass by. But then she sighed and dragged her gaze to Fury. "So what are you going to do when you find out that you really don't have any reason to be so angry with me?"

"You sound confident."

"Meh, only when it's appropriate."

"You think you don't have anything to fear?"

"I know I don't."

* * *

 **11:53 am**

 **May 11th, 2012**

 **New York City, New York**

Charlie sighed and slammed her head back against the headrest. "C'mon!" she yelled, hoping they could hear her from outside the room. She wriggled her arms in their restraints and wrinkled her nose, the pads attached all over her head and face itching. "Let's get started already!" She groaned and stared angrily at the control board across the room, the chair in front of it empty. "I'm getting bored!"

The door opened. "Sorry for the wait. We had an interruption."

"Yeah, like I care," she muttered, eying him. "How's the arm?"

Coulson sat down in the chair and then glanced down at his sling. "Healing. Thank you for your concern."

"I'm not concerned, just curious. Call it a character flaw." She tried to adjust the way she was sitting, but the cuffs around her wrists, waist, and ankles made it difficult. "We starting now?"

"Yes, we are." He turned on the board. "We'll have to start with some simple questions that we know the answers to in order to establish you truth baseline. Are you ready?"

"No. I think I wanna wait a little longer."

He gave her a flat look and then opened the folder in front of him. "Let's begin. Make sure you answer the questions truthfully. Name?"

She evened out her breathing and relaxed her shoulders. "Charlotte Bernadette Barton. When I'm on the job, it's Trickshot. When I'm off the job, it's Charlie."

He didn't make any indication that he was paying attention beyond studying the screens in front of him and making notes inside his folder. "Date of birth?"

"August 4th, 1975."

More silence as he watched the screens. More notes. "Eye color?"

"Green."

"You ever been married?"

She couldn't help but scoff out a laugh. "No."

"Family and status?"

She couldn't help the way her stomach turned. "Father, Harold Barton, deceased. Mother, Edith Barton, deceased. Brother, Clinton Francis Barton, alive."

Coulson frowned, pausing his pen over the page. "Repeat that, please."

"You serious?"

"Repeat, please."

She sighed. "Father, Harold Barton, deceased. Mother, Edith Barton, deceased. Brother, Clinton Francis Barton, alive."

"Ah. Just understanding the readings. I'm assuming the change in heart rate and brainwaves is due to your negative regard for your father?"

Charlie grit her teeth. "Yeah."

"I see." He wrote more things down. "Your brother's date of birth?"

"January 7th, 1971." Charlie curled her fingers, trying to ignore the stubborn itch on her nose.

"Date and cause of parents' death?"

"January 1st, 1982 for both. My father was drunk and insisted on driving. Car crashed. They both died on impact."

He spent a long time writing on that one. When he looked back up, his expression was far more serious. "Are you responsible for Agent Grant Ward's death?"

Had she killed him? Yes. But it was his own actions that had brought her to that point. So technically . . . ."No."

"Have you ever killed a SHIELD agent?"

"No."

He studied the screens and recorded the results, but didn't let his expression change. "Have you ever wished ill towards a SHIELD agent?"

"No. Not unless you count being frustrated with Clint on a bad day."

"I'm not counting that. Just answer the question. Have you ever wished ill towards a SHIELD agent?"

"No."

"Why is your relationship with SHIELD so antagonistic?"

She blinked. "Seriously? You kidding? SHIELD is constantly after me for killing their agents. SHIELD makes my life a living hell on a _good_ day."

"And SHIELD isn't justified in that?"

Charlie hardened her gaze. "I have _never_ killed a SHIELD agent."

"And you really believe that?"

She scoffed. "Think about it, Coulson. On the helicarrier, I would have been fully within my rights to kill each and every single SHIELD agent I came across that tried to attack me under Loki's control. How many of those agents did I kill?"

He didn't answer.

"How many, Coulson? How many?"

"None, as far as I know." He looked down at his folder. "Nineteen years ago, you and your brother were both offered admission into SHIELD. Your brother accepted but you did not. Why?"

"I'm not going to let someone order me around like I'm a dog. Especially if I can't be sure of where their moral compass is pointing."

"You joined the Avengers. How is that different?"

"Smaller group. I have more control. I know who will be telling me what to do. That also doesn't mean I'll listen."

"We'll move on to a different set of questions, now. These are more psychoanalytical."

She laughed. "I see. Fury has me here and now he can't resist the chance to get inside my head, can he?"

"Most of our agents go through this."

"Most? Not all?"

Coulson just smiled tightly. "Let's begin. What's the difference between an egg and a rock?"

"Doesn't matter. I could kill you with both."

That managed to get a chuckle of sorts out of him. He made some more notes. "You wash up on a deserted island alone. Sitting on the sand is a box. Inside that box is . . . ?"

She took just a moment to think about it, mulling over her options. "My tool bag."

"Your tool bag?"

"Yep. Anything and everything I need for any and every situation. Next?"

"Good. Now you're still on the deserted island. You have your choice of anyone in the world to be there with you. Who do you choose?"

Her answer was immediate this time. "No one."

"No one? Not even your brother?"

"I have two options: either I stay on that island or I try to leave. Either way, I want to make sure I have someone I trust."

"You don't trust your brother?"

"I don't trust anyone."

Coulson took a longer time to ask the next question. After he finished writing, he just watched her vitals in silence. She was just about to prompt him to continue when he asked, "You can go twenty years into the past and tell yourself just one thing. What do you say?"

Charlie glanced away, working her jaw as she thought. When she found her answer, she looked back at him. "Leave Clint before he leaves you."

More writing. "What do you think people will say at your funeral?"

"You're assuming that I'll have a funeral in the first place."

"Assume that you have a funeral."

"I can't. A funeral requires people that would care enough to find and retrieve your body once you've died and then go through the time and work of putting together a ceremony."

"So your answer is?"

"Nothing. They wouldn't say anything."

"I see. Your relationship with your brother seems strained. Are the two of you close?"

"I wouldn't say that."

"Yet you came after him when Loki got control of him."

"Of course. He's an insufferable idiot, but he's my brother. I love him. That's not conditional."

"Last question: You have twenty-four hours to live. What do you choose to do differently with your last day?"

"Nothing."

He took a little while to finish writing. Then he snapped the folder closed and got to his feet, tucking the file under his good arm. "Sit tight," he said, opening the door. "I'll be back."

"Right. Oh, hey, wait! Can you let me up? My nose," —the door closed— "itches," Charlie finished. "Well fine." She sighed and let her head rest back again. Her eyes drifted closed.

The door slammed open. Charlie jerked in her seat and opened her eyes. "Nick," she greeted with fake cheerfulness, watching him approach the control board. "What's the word?"

"Congratulations, Barton," he said, hitting a button on the panel. The cuffs securing her in place lifted. "You managed to just destroy sixteen years of SHIELD's analysis on you."

Charlie rubbed her wrists and then began pulling the wires away from her face. "Hmm. That sounds like a reason to celebrate, to me. Having second thoughts about having given me a spot in the Avengers?"

"No. Second thoughts about every bit of information we've ever gathered on you? Yes. But second thoughts about that? No. Now get the hell out of here."

She hopped up from her seat and gave him a mocking salute. "Aye aye, captain." She strolled out the door.

Then she stopped in her tracks.

"Fuck," she said. "You've been here the whole time?"

Stark was the first one to respond, clapping Clint on the shoulder in such a way that he stumbled forward. "Old _Francis_ here grabbed all of us the moment Fury snatched you up. Apparently, he was afraid we'd have to fight tooth and nail to keep our teammate. Seems he had nothing to worry about. Well . . . nothing except literally everything you said about him."

Charlie glanced towards Rogers—he looked only mildly interested in the conversation—then Natasha—the redhead and taken on her classic aloof expression, but she knew her too well to buy it—and finally Clint. His expression was smooth, but she could see the tightness around his eyes and his white knuckles as he clenched his fists. She crossed her arms. "We're not talking about this."

Clint jerked his gaze up to hers and she hadn't even realized that he'd looked away. He nodded sharply, just once. "Okay."

"Great. I'm gonna get a drink." She moved past them, curling her toes against the cold floor as she walked.

"Great!" Stark turned to follow her and threw an arm around her shoulders. "We'll join you."

Charlie stiffened in alarm and immediately ducked away from his arm. She eyed him, watching the calculated way he watched her in surprise. "Fine. But don't get touchy." She turned and led the way.

* * *

 **1:59 am**

 **May 24th, 2012**

 **New York City, New York**

She should be back at the apartment. She knew that. She'd been hidden away in one of her hideouts several blocks away for well over forty-eight hours now and she knew Clint would be worried. But it was all too easy to ignore that. Instead, Charlie focused in on the computer screen in front of her and the miles and miles of code that she was sorting through. Her head had started to hurt a long, long time ago, somewhat from the screen but mostly from lack of sleep.

But it didn't matter.

All that mattered was the name she'd found.

 _James Buchanan Barnes._


	5. In Which Walls have Doorways

Chapter Five - In Which Walls have Doorways

 **4:17 am**

 **February 10th, 2008**

 **78 miles outside of Wroclaw, Poland**

She let out a whine of pain as the bullet missed her head in favor of lodging itself in her thigh. Charlie finished ripping the gun out of his hands and elbowed him fiercely in the nose, hearing a satisfying crack in response. She twisted, yanking his arm until she felt his elbow give. She used that broken arm to drag him down as she swept his feet out from under him.

Charlie flipped out her bowie knife and stabbed him through his left shoulder. Metal crunched and wires sparked and she locked him to the ground that way. And then she swept her gun to his temple. "Don't move," she ordered, slipping easily into familiar Russian.

He stared up at her and from where she was straddling his torso she could feel his chest heaving. His eyes were dark, dangerous, but curious. He cautiously spoke in his own Russian, voice rusty with disuse. "You've been playing with me."

"Ooh, look at how smart you are, snugglekins," she cooed. "I couldn't have you catching up to me too soon, now, could I?"

His eyes narrowed. "Why not?" he demanded. "You would have had more chance of an easier win."

She grinned. "'Cause the longer it takes you to catch up to me, honeycomb, the longer you're away from your handler. And the longer you're away from your handler, the more of _you_ I get to see."

He stared for a long moment. And then he surged upward, free hand reaching for her throat.

* * *

 **9:10 am**

 **June 1st, 2012**

 **New York City, New York**

"This place is insane. You know that, right?" Charlie strolled through the living area and flicked the decorative pillows on the couch. "You're making a lot of assumptions about me being here long enough to actually make this place lived in."

"Not like I'm really risking much."

"Except for a few hundred thousand dollars. But what is that to you, right?" She dropped her bag in an armchair. "You're putting a lot of effort into a team that's gonna fall apart real quick."

Tony arched an eyebrow, loosening his tie. "You're not an optimistic one, are you?"

She shrugged. "Should I be?"

"Meh, I think that happy-go-lucky bullshit is overrated. Hungry? Wasn't sure what everyone liked, so each apartment is stocked to the brim with every different possible kind of food."

"There bacon?"

"Of course. Common area is floor eighty. Gym is on floor seventy-six and just below that is the range. Beyond that, you'll figure it out. Let's introduce you to JARVIS. Hey, J?"

"Yes, Sir? I am here." The voice came from the ceiling and Charlie did her best not to acknowledge it or her constricting ribcage.

"Meet Charlotte—"

"Charlie."

"This is JARVIS. He runs, well, everything."

"I've heard about him," Charlie said, meeting his gaze head on. "I want him out of my area. If you want me here, then I'm not sharing my space with him."

Tony blinked once and then took it in stride. "Fine. Okay. Trickshot's suite is off limits, got that, J?"

"Clear as a bell, Sir." And then the AI went silent.

"He won't bother you," Tony told her. "He won't see in here any more. He's completely cut off from here, so try not to, I don't know, die or whatever. 'Cause he won't be able to let the rest of us know."

She eyed him doubtfully. "I've survived this long without Big Brother. I'll survive a little longer." She strolled over to the kitchen and started digging through the pantry. After a moment, she turned with her arms full of Oreos and Pringles. "You need something else?"

He shrugged. "Weapon and uniform parameters so I can get started."

She frowned.

Tony shoved his hands in his pockets. "Right. Come with me. I can show you what I'm doing for the others."

She eyed him suspiciously for a moment before following him from the room and to the elevator. "Workshop, J," he said. Tony glanced at her. "Your bullwhip got fried, right?"

"Something like that."

"So I'll start working on a new one. Now, I rewatched some of the footage to get a better look at your uniform and I have to say that I'm not terribly impressed. There's not a ton of protection there."

"Resources are limited for me, Stark. I decided I needed the flexibility over the ability for it to stop a bullet."

"No, I get it, I do. But I'm just saying that I can do so much better. If you'd had my tech in New York, you wouldn't have turned into the walking pincushion that you were." He stepped out of the elevator and pushed his way into his workshop. "Welcome to Candyland! JARVIS will need to scan you."

"Scan?" She eyed him. "And by that you mean . . . ."

"I need measurements for your uniform. Either JARVIS scans or I go old fashion with the tape measure. Either way, your overclothes are coming off."

"What?"

Tony shrugged. "Everyone else had to do it. I won't even look, see?" He made a show of covering his eyes and turning around.

Charlie eyed him, toeing off her shoes. She stripped off her shirt and jeans.

"Arms extended to your sides, please," JARVIS said. "Feet further apart. Thank you." A pause. "You may redress now."

"That's it?" she asked in surprise, pulling her jeans back on. "Huh. I thought it's take longer." She shimmied back into her shirt. "You're fine, Stark."

He turned to find her hopping on one foot as she tried to get her shoes back on. "Right. Okay. I have some questions: what do you need out of the uniform? are you okay with hidden gadgets? color scheme?"

"I'm . . . gonna be here a while, aren't I?" She sighed. "At least tell me there's coffee."

Tony grinned. "Of course. I'm not a heathen."

* * *

 **7:23 pm**

 **June 3rd, 2012**

 **New York City, New York**

Charlie finally gave in to the incessant knocking and opened her door, staring flatly at her visitor. "What?"

Clint managed a sheepish grin and gestured mildly at the junk food piled in his arms. "Dog Cops is on. I thought maybe you'd be interested in watching it together?"

She crossed her arms. "What do you want, Clint?"

"C'mon, Etta. This is an olive branch. I just . . . we went wrong somewhere. Sometime. A long time ago. The two of us. I just . . . I want to fix it."

"I don't need fixing."

"I know! That's not, that's not what I was saying." Clint groaned and shut his eyes. "I'm not doing this right, am I?" He cleared his throat and straightened, looking her dead in the eye. "I'm sorry for leaving."

She studied him. "Would you do it again? If you could redo it, would you still leave?"

"I . . . ." He glanced to the side. "I'm trying to be honest, so . . . . Knowing what I know now? I don't know what I would do. But I don't think I would leave again. Not the way I did before."

It didn't really do much to move the knife buried in her back, but it was something. It was more than he'd admitted or said before. Charlie unfolded her arms and gripped the door with one hand, stepping aside. "That's good enough for now, I guess. Get the TV set up. I'll make coffee."

Clint broke out into a beaming grin and scrambled inside. "I brought circus animal cookies! And chocolate! Also, Tash let me steal some of her vodka!" He dumped everything he was carrying in the middle of the couch.

Charlie just nodded and started the coffee pot. It took her a moment to find the mugs and she blinked. "Really, Stark?" she muttered. She picked out the Dumbo and Indiana Jones mugs and filled them. Then she carried the coffee over to the couch and held one out to Clint. "To you being less of a dick." she toasted.

He eyed her and then shrugged. "I guess that works." He raised his mug to her and then sipped at it. "Ah, black as night. Thanks, baby sissy." He held out his free hand. "Cuddles?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't push it."

* * *

 **11:49 pm**

 **June 6th, 2012**

 **New York City, New York**

"Uh, JARVIS, can I get in the workshop?"

There was a pause. And then the panel beeped and the light turned green. Charlie pushed the door open. Tony looked up from where he was hunched over a table. "Charlie! What can I do for my favorite criminal?"

"Putting the workshop on lockdown out be nice," she mused, closing the door behind herself. "Clint wants to talk about our _feelings_ and I need to avoid him until he returns to his senses."

"Oh." Tony wrinkled his nose. "Gross. Why would he want to do that? Is he still hung up on that stupid interrogation?"

"Seems like it." She shoved her hands in her pockets and strolled over to the nearest table, peering at the Iron Man parts strewn across it.

"I thought you two were doing better."

"We've been marathoning Dog Cops. But ten minutes ago I left to get ice cream and came back to find he'd paused the show and brought Nat in as a moderated. And I don't exactly appreciate being ambushed."

"Right. Got it. JARVIS, lockdown." He bent back over his work. "Bring the music back up."

AC/DC started blaring through the speakers again and Charlie glanced up. "Is this all you listen to?"

"Not _all._ Why, what do you listen to?"

"I— Are you _sewing?"_

"Stitching a few corrections in Cap's next uniform. Why?"

She shrugged. "I just figured you were a 'I have a machine that does it for me' kind of guy."

"I do have a machine that does it for me," he said, pointing across the workshop. "I'm just making some modifications."

"Fancy."

He squinted at her. "Look, if you're gonna be in here, at least make yourself useful. Go start another pot of coffee."

She rolled her eyes and gave a mock salute. "Sir, yes, sir."

* * *

 **4:04 am**

 **June 11th, 2012**

 **New York City, New York**

She woke from her nightmare and lay still, staring up at the ceiling that was uncomfortably familiar. Unsafe, unsafe, unsafe. She took a deep breath.

And then she scrambled up and out the window.


	6. In Which Things get Welded

Chapter Six - In Which Things get Welded

 **9:34 pm**

 **August 8th, 1980**

 **Osborne, Kansas**

One moment she was humming loudly to herself as she colored and the next there was a beer bottle flying towards her face.

"Shut up!" Harold snapped.

The bottle smashed against her forehead, knocking her back. Charlie shrieked and reached up. The tears and sobs began before she even processed what had happened, small fingers scrabbling glass off her skin as beer ran into her eyes. She choked out a cry.

"Leave her _alone!"_

That shout was followed by a thud and a call of pain. Charlie fell to her side, curled in the fetal position as she tried to dry up the alcohol soaking into her vision. The screaming behind her started and Charlie dug her fingers into the carpet. She crawled slowly, feeling the broken glass cutting into her skin. She reached the space between the wall and the couch and collapsed in a sobbing heap, unable to do anything but just listen to the cries.

She drew her knees to her chest and fell, curling her fingers around her ears. "Please stop," she whimpered, beer sour on her tongue. "Please, please stop. Please."

And then, an impossible amount of time later, it did stop. Heavy, stumbling footsteps retreated and she was left with her own shaking breath and her brother's shuddering sobs. Charlie gripped the sofa with shaking hands and peeked over to find her father nowhere in the room. She heard the familiar creak and loud crash of the front door closing.

That was enough.

Charlie scrambled out and to where her brother was crumpled on the floor. "Clint? Clint!" Tears stung her eyes at the sight of the blood streaking across his ears and his face. "Clint, are ya okay? Clint!"' She grabbed his shoulder and shook him viciously.

Clint flinched violently and squirmed for a second. He managed to open his eyes and stare blankly up at her.

"Clint, are ya okay? Please, please, please, please, please!"

He stared at her.

"C-clint?" she asked, faltering. "What is it?"

He lifted a hand to his ear but only managed to make it halfway before his entire body flinched in protest. "Etta?" he asked loudly. Too loudly. Much too loudly. "What're ya sayin'?"

* * *

 **3:13 am**

 **June 25th, 2012**

 **New York City, New York**

"Sir, Charlie Barton would like to know if she's allowed to enter the workshop."

Tony stopped what he was doing and rubbed his tired eyes. "Uh . . . what?"

"Charlie Barton would like to know if she's allowed to enter the workshop," JARVIS said again.

"Charlie . . . Barton?" He blinked. "She's back? Since when?"

"I am unsure at what time Miss Barton entered the building. I have no record of her presence since the 10th until her request sixty-two seconds ago. She is asking for admission again."

"Um, oh, right. Let her in."

The workshop door slid open and Tony squinted at the visitor, rubbing his sore back. "Well, well, well. We all thought you left for good."

"It was tempting, but I realized I'd never gotten my new duds from you."

"Duds," he repeated flatly. "Right. And just how did you get past JARVIS?"

She grinned. "I'm not as smart as you, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve. JARVIS is great, but even he can't see everything."

"So you're saying there are security flaws."

"Oh, hon," she said, shaking her head. "There's always security flaws. No system is perfect."

"Hey, now, I take personal offense to that." He waved his wrench at her. "Why don't you make yourself useful and start another pot of coffee?"

She strolled over to the kitchenette. As she started messing with the coffee pot, she looked pointedly at the crumpled suit jacket and tie discarded on the floor. "Date night?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Pepper and I ate at that fancy French place, but she had to leave so we cut our reservation short. There's leftovers in the fridge if you want any."

She turned the coffee pot on and then turned to the fridge. Charlie dug through the boxes. "Ooh, duck." She took the box out and stuck it in the microwave.

Tony winced. "Might not heat up well. There were chocolate soufflés too, but those don't really keep."

"Eh, that's fine." She dug through the drawers before coming up with a fork. Then she retrieved ketchup from the fridge and took the box. Charlie perched on the back of the couch, slathering the duck confit in ketchup.

Tony scoffed, though a grin tugged at his face. "Julia Child is rolling over in her grave at you doing that."

Charlie squinted at him. "Who?"

Tony paused. "Julia Child? You know, chef and television personality? Famous for her French cooking? None of this is ringing a bell?"

Charlie shook her head and shrugged.

Tony sighed. "Right, okay. Hey, J? Why don't you throw up the first episode of The French Chef for our friend, here? Show her what she's missing out on."

"Of course, sir."

A holographic screen appeared in front of the couch and after a moment the episode began to play. A few minutes later, the coffee pot finished and DUM-E brought him a mug.

It was when DUM-E brought him the seventh mug and it was empty that Tony realized he needed to make more coffee. He glanced over at Charlie to ask if she wanted any to stay awake, but she didn't seem to have any trouble with that. The empty to-go box was sitting forgotten on the floor and she was leaning forward, eyes wide as she watched the holographic screen. Tony huffed and stared down at his half-finished Iron Man gauntlet. He sighed and set down his tools, moving to the couch.

"Mind if I join you?"

Charlie didn't look away from the screen, but she did manage to shake her head. "I don't care."

He let out a grunt as he dropped down, narrowly avoiding using her legs as a backrest. "What are we making?"

"Uh, quiche lorraine."

"Ooh, sounds yummy."

"Shh," she urged. "I'm watching."

He twisted and squinted at her. "Huh, you're really into cooking shows, aren't you?"

"Never watched 'em before, but I guess. Now shush!"

He rolled his eyes and leaned back against the cushions. "Yeah, yeah." And then he drifted off to the sound of Julia Child's voice and Charlie's whines of hunger.

* * *

 **2:11 pm**

 **June 25th, 2012**

 **New York City, New York**

"Sweet! Hey, DUM-E, hand me that, would you?"

"Miss Barton, I cannot warn you enough—"

"Jesus, call me Charlie. Miss Barton." A loud scoff. "What am I, fifty?"

"Charlie," JARVIS said, sounding stressed. "I cannot warn you enough against testing the bulletproof ability of your uniform in this manner."

"I hear you."

"I really do think—"

It was the sound of a gun going off that finally dragged Tony fully into wakefulness. He tumbled from the couch, scrambling for purchase and bringing one hand up as if he was about to fire a non-existent gauntlet. "I— Huh?" He blinked and shook his head, trying to clear his vision.

"Oh, good morning, Sleeping Beauty!"

He rubbed his eyes and squinted. "Uh . . . hi. You found your stuff."

"Yep!" She set down the gun she was holding and then rubbed at the new scuff mark on her uniform's pants. "You weren't kidding about it being safer."

"Did you— Did you _shoot_ yourself?" he asked, pulling himself to his feet.

"I did warn her," JARVIS sighed.

"Eh." She waved a hand. "But your stuff worked! I'll bruise a little bit, but that's all. Okay, a lot. That definitely feels like it'll bruise a lot."

"You have absolutely no sense of self-preservation, do you?" he asked, stumbling over to the kitchenette to start some coffee. He made a pleased sound upon discovering there was already a pot made.

"Me? Uhhhh, no." She hopped up onto a table and picked up the Iron Man gauntlet there.

"Yeah, don't mess with that," he said, setting down a mug and scrambling across to her to snatch the gauntlet out of her hands.

Charlie pouted. "Well, fine." She turned towards the holographic display that was still playing.

"You been watching that this whole time?" he asked, setting the gauntlet on the counter and moving to fill his mug.

"Mmhmm. I've never cooked in my life, but I think I wanna try now. She's making crêpes. Have you ever had crêpes? They look delicious."

"I've had them. They're pretty good." He leaned against the counter and squinted at her. "The others have any idea you're back yet?"

She shrugged. "Probably not. I'm not looking forward to talking to Clint again."

"Yeah, what the hell is up with that anyway? Do you two actually like each other or do you hate each other?" He took a long sip of coffee and sighed in relief.

"I have no idea." She groaned and started unlacing her armored vest. "I think that the SHIELD he's so incredibly loyal to is fucked up and way darker than he thinks. He thinks I'm an immoral bitch. So." Charlie shrugged. "I don't think anything's gonna change as long as SHIELD's around."

"You say that like you know something's gonna happen to SHIELD."

"Eh, I wouldn't complain if it disappeared." She hopped down from the table, vest in hand. "Alright, JARVIS, you can stop the show. I think I'm gonna go hunt down something to eat." She moved for the door.

"Oh, hey!" Tony called after her. "Since you're here, you gonna be attending the Fourth of July birthday bash we're throwing for Cap?"

"Uh . . . the what?"

"Big party." He shrugged. "Excuse to cut loose. You gonna be here for that?"

Charlie wrinkled her nose as she thought about it. "I guess so. No promises, though." Then she escaped the workshop.

* * *

 **5:47 pm**

 **June 25th, 2012**

 **New York City, New York**

"You're back," Natasha said simply, dropping down on the couch beside her and leaning forward to select a potato chip.

"Yeah. Free housing is kinda irresistible in the long run."

"Clint thought he scared you off for good. He's been moping for weeks now."

Charlie didn't feel like answering that, instead watching Julia Child dice onions. "Have you ever watched this show?"

"I— No. Why are _you_ watching this? I don't think I've ever seen you watch TV in your life if it hasn't been Clint making you sit down for Dog Cops."

Charlie shrugged. "Kinda too busy running jobs. Started this one this morning though. I'm really liking it. I think I could get into cooking."

"As a hobby?" Natasha asked, turning fully so she could study Charlie.

"Yeah, maybe."

"You've never had a hobby. Unless you can count mercenary work as a hobby."

Charlie wrinkled her nose and frowned over at Natasha. "What do you want? Huh? You gonna turn this into another therapy session or something? Because I just want to relax and watch this show and maybe veg out for a bit. I've had a rough couple of weeks."

"Interesting that while you've been gone, there's been six more SHIELD agent deaths and two break-ins at secure facilities by an unidentified perpetrator."

Charlie grit her teeth. "JARVIS, pause the show, please."

"Of course, Charlie." The TV froze.

Natasha's expression was blank. She didn't look excited to be having this conversation, but she didn't look resigned either. "How did you trick the test, Charlotte?"

 _"_ _Don't_ call me that," Charlie hissed. "I didn't trick anything. I answered the questions honestly."

"Did you? Because I've known you for a long time. And if there's one thing I've always been sure about with you it was that you were steadily working your way through SHIELD, building up a pile of bodies."

"I have never killed a SHIELD agent," Charlie growled out. She shoved herself to her feet. "I'm _done._ I'm not having this conversation anymore." But as she whipped around to leave, she found that Clint was standing a few feet away, frozen. She scowled. "What? Are you here to accuse me of lying too?"

"I— What?" he asked hoarsely, dragging his gaze away from Natasha. "No. I'm not. I'm . . . I'm glad you're back, Etta."

She eyed him for a long moment. Then she scoffed and shoved past him. "Yeah, sure. Me too."

"I— Wait." He grabbed at her arm. When she fixed her stare on him, he quickly let go. "I just— Coffee? Maybe . . . maybe pizza?"

Charlie worked her jaw for a long moment. Then she nodded. "Yeah, alright. Coffee. Maybe pizza."

"I— Great. Thank. I, uh— shoes. I—"

"I'll meet you out front in five minutes. How's that?"

She'd never in her life seen Clint look more grateful. He mumbled his thanks and escaped from the room. Charlie glanced one more time at Natasha and then stepped into the elevator. "Lobby, JARVIS."

"Of course, Charlie." The doors closed and JARVIS paused for a beat. "Upon reflection of discussions within the Tower in the last few weeks, Sir believes you are being honest."

Charlie looked up at the ceiling and then traced the corners before she located a small camera. She stared into it. "Really?" she asked doubtfully.

"He made a point of coming to your defense on multiple occasions, arguing that as a teammate you should be given the benefit of the doubt. Doctor Banner also seems inclined to agree with that sentiment. Captain Rogers has abstained from giving an opinion one way another on the matter."

"Oh, great, so it's only the two people in the world that actually know me that think I'm lying. Thanks," she said dryly.

JARVIS didn't respond to that. The elevator doors slid open. Charlie kept her head down as she moved through the lobby. Once outside, she moved to sit on one of the benches and wait. She pulled out her phone and went through several steps in unlocking it. Then she started going through her messages, decoding them mentally as she went. Info on Pierce, movement in Thailand, more Pierce, mission details for a Brock Rumlow, report on an incident in Iowa—

"Ready?"

"Natasha isn't waiting there to ambush me, is she?"

He flinched visibly. "No. I'm sorry for doing that. That was, that was wrong of me."

Charlie stood, eying him. She nodded. "And I'm sorry for running off without letting you know that I was planning to come back. That was wrong of me, too."

That eased a lot of the tension in his shoulders, and he sighed in relief. "There's a good shop this way. I figured we could get something to eat and drink and then sit in the park and . . . I dunno, people watch and make fun of them like, like—"

"Like we used to?" She hesitated, glancing away. "Yeah. Sure. As long as you're paying."

"Of course."

* * *

 **6:07 am**

 **June 26th, 2012**

 **New York City, New York**

"Please."

"No."

"Pretty please? It's important."

"No. I don't feel like telling you."

"Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

"A cherry? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? No!"

"I'll get you whatever you want. Hell, if you want to try your hand at cooking, I'll get you the best stuff possible to do it with."

She paused, actually considering his request for the first time. Then she sighed, shoulders slumping. "Tempting, but no. I'm not going to tell you how I've been getting past JARVIS. If you're so worried about it, you should figure it out yourself."

"I've tried. I can't find any holes!"

"Then try harder. Jeez."

"You can't even give me a hint?"

"You're the smart one," she pointed out. "You should be able to figure this out on your own." She picked up the gadget next to her and started turning it over in her hands.

"Oh! Let's not— That's dangerous," he said, snatching it from her hands.

She pouted visibly. And then her interest piqued as she straightened. "Hey, Stark. I'll give you a hint if you give me something in return."

Tony squinted at her. "And what would that be?"

"I want to fly the armor."

"What? No!"

She tilted her head to the side and crossed her arms. "And here I thought that you wanted to figure out the weak spots in your security."

"It's— I can't let you fly the armor. That's too dangerous."

"Not even for a hint about what could be a crucial failure in keeping this Tower and its inhabitants safe?"

Tony hesitated. "I . . . . You can't just give me a hint. For that, you need to tell me everything and help me fix it. _And_ I want you to test the security again when I'm done."

She wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. Gross. Sounds like work. But . . . you'll let me fly the armor?"

"We'll have to go somewhere where you won't be able to do any damage. And where we won't draw attention. But," —he sighed— "I'll let you fly the armor."


End file.
